Flirting with Disaster (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 2)

“How is it not the same?” Lauren pressed.

“Because,” she started then had to swallow the thickness from her throat. “Because...” She felt her face crumple, and there was nothing she could do to stop the sob that escaped. “Because I didn’t want him to do that to me.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Lauren said, sounding slightly panicked. She grabbed Isabelle’s hand and squeezed tight. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Isabelle said, covering her face with her other hand. “I thought it was real and so good, and it wasn’t real.”

“Isabelle, shh. You don’t know that.”

“He was lying!”

“Well, you’ve been lying to me the whole time I’ve known you, and this is real, isn’t it?”

Isabelle sniffed, but more tears just filled her head again. “Yes.”

“And Jill? You’ve known her for more years than anyone, and you were lying to her and it was real, wasn’t it?”

“It’s not the same,” she muttered, reaching for her napkin. She dumped the silverware and covered her face with the white square.

“How?” Lauren didn’t sound very sympathetic.

“He handcuffed me, in case you don’t remember! Brought the whole federal government down on my head.”

“Now you’re just being silly. That’s a funny story you can tell about how you met.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, but Lauren didn’t sound chastened when she spoke.

“You can say whatever you want, but you still miss him.”

Two more fat tears escaped her control at that. She wouldn’t admit that she missed him. She wouldn’t admit that she thought about him every day and looked up news stories online to see if he might be mentioned. He never was anymore. After the initial few stories, he hadn’t been named again.

She took a big sip of champagne and a very deep breath and raised her chin. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“You could get in touch.”

“No.”

“You could ask Jill to ask Mary.”

“No!” she cried then looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Are you crazy?”

“So you’re just never going to see him again?”

Oh, shit. Tears spilled over her cheeks again, because she knew she was never going to see him again, and because she felt stupid. Stupid for still wanting to. Stupid for missing him so much when he’d been here for only a week. Stupid that she’d had to look up “how to stop thinking about someone” on the internet.

She wiped at her face and then leaned closer to Lauren. “Why would he want to see me, Lauren? I lied, too. And he still might lose his job over it. I’m supposed to call him and say, ‘Hi, this is the crazy fugitive girl who’s still pissed at you and may have ruined your life. Want to go out for a drink so we can rehash that terrible week?’”

“No. You’re supposed to say that you’re wondering how he’s doing. That’s all.”

“And if he just tells me to fuck off?”

“What if he does? You’re being a coward over that?”

“I’m not being a coward! We had sex a few times. What makes you think it meant anything to him?”

“Because he risked his job for you, Isabelle. For you.”

“I’m sure he regrets it,” she snapped.